


Gore/Inktober 2020

by GrassyOrchards



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), The Evil Within (Video Game), Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Autopsy, Blood, Blood Drinking, Flowers, Gen, Guilt, Gunshot Wounds, Hero Complex, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Its probably clear that this is mostly unedited lol, Loss of Control, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Superiority Complex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrassyOrchards/pseuds/GrassyOrchards
Summary: UPDATE: Reposting these as separate one shots to avoid tag clutter, will leave this up for now howeverEach chapter is a seperate oneshot, ranging from like 500 words to 2000.**Not a crossover fic**Writing for these fandoms;The Evil Within (#1)VampyrDetroit Become Human
Relationships: Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapters and Info

Heya! So instead of drawing something everyday for goretober this year I thought I'd spice things up for myself and write little one shots instead! Will range a lot on length and substance depending on how much time and focus I have each day. I'm posting this early to get feedback and prompts/requests! Please note due to the nature of this challenge that this fic collection will be mature, and, rather focused on violence and angst. Also length between fics will vary from drabble to full blown oneshots. 

Update: Decided just to avoid repetitive gore spamming Ill also mix in some inktober prompts. So honestly feel free to suggest anythjng you think would be appropriate for a daily oneshot challenge.

This will be multifandom, though I'm primarily interested in TEW right now. Each chapter will be marked accordingly for those that only enjoy one or two of the written fandoms haha. My prompt list is incredibly tentative and subject to change until October hits so don't hesitate to suggest anything, but if you're looking for something in particular please be specific or else I may not write what you're looking for. Also no guarantees on writing all suggestions but it's more than likely that I will tbh. Also suggest as many as you want.

Also might do out of order depending on what days I feel more inspired to write for haha.

The fandoms I'll write for;

-The Evil Within (TEW)

-Vampyr (V)

-Detroit Become Human (DBH)

**Written Prompts**

1(V) Bloodlust; McCullum "Self control only lasts so long when you're fighting your own nature." 

2 (TEW) Gunshot Wounds; Joseph "He was going to die, alone, from a wound one of his two partners had given him."

3 (Personal) Wolf In Sheeps Clothing (Not posted here as its non fandom characters my gf and I have)

4 (TEW) Teeth; Seb and Sentinel "Sebastian remembers Joseph once telling him he had a hero complex"

5 (DBH) Autopsy; Nines and Connor "He really was an inferior model"

6 (DBH) Flowers; Nines and Gavin "Of all the places to find a familiar face."

To Do Prompt list(despite being numbered this isnt an accurate list as far as order goes, I will write what I feel inspiration for each day haha)

3 (TEW) Machine; Ruben and Dr. Jiminez "Unfortunate."

4 (TEW) Madness; Ruben 

5 (TEW) Needles; Leslie and Ruben or Ruben and some poor unnamed character if we're feeling less kind

6 (TEW) Possesed; Kidman and "Joseph" "It's been months but… She's still haunted in her nightmares "I'm going to kill you Kidman" 

7 (V) Burns; McCullum and Reid "This isn't what I Wanted" 

11 "Love" bites(again, multiple obvious choices-"

12 (DBH) Beaten; like any of the characters lol

13 (TEW) Cannibalism; Haunted Joseph and Seb (im aware this is an obvious choice)

14 Fire? (There is an obvious choice here again-)

16\. (V) Serial Killings; Dragon Reid "There's a clear point where I stopped caring. And from there things only went downhill."


	2. (V) McCullum; Bloodlust

_The hunter pauses, stomach tightening with a spasm of pain as he inhales. A low whimper escapes him, the same of a wounded dog. The brick wall he leans on feels so cold, but the smell in the air.. So warm. "Help me…" he hears, and something deeply repressed squirms with delight._

"You really told yourself that you could push it all down, didn't you?" The words are mocking, but gentle, they match the feeling of clawed hands petting through his hair perfectly. The pity from Reid was undeserved. He could still taste it. Red iron, coating his tongue, his stomach singing with contentment for the first time in months. Drops rest on his upper lip, his face a mess from the feral meal. He darts his tongue out on instinct to catch them, and shivers with both pleasure and disgust. 

_He stumbles blindly, a fog overcoming everything. It's familiar, muddled grays and smears of bright pulsing red. A shiver runs through him, familiar warm smell in his nose, this was a hunt, a real hunt, how long it had been… It was easy, the creature hadn't even hid itself from him. Slumped over, filthy in the alley, losing the precious warmth from its shoulder… It was asking to be hunted._

Reid sighs, placing an arm across his shaking body as if to comfort him. He was crouched, a still body within reach, his own limbs shaking. A filthy leech, what he despised more than anything. There was no moral high ground anymore, not even for the had-been leader of the Guard. Stricken down not by battle, but by primal hunger, there would be no honourable death for him now. Priwen should have taken him out the second there was any suspicion, but his men, his stupidly loyal men turned away when he stepped down. Stared with eyes of understanding, slivers of sympathy… But who could be sympathetic now? 

_His teeth sank in, and the moment they made purchase he can no longer let go. The warmth is spreading over his tongue, painting his teeth, and it feels so right. It's screaming, beating on his chest with it's limbs, but even weakened by hunger there is nothing it can do against him. He drinks, pulling it closer and growing only more desperate against it's neck. Teeth dig in too far, and by the time he pulls back, mouth open and heaving breaths he did not need does he realize he's torn flesh. Blood splatters the ground, falling from his mouth. He closes it, and suddenly iron tastes sour as he recognizes the deep scarlet of his sins._

"Don't worry about it too much." Reid attempts to comfort further, but his words are that of a killer. Meaningless in all but noise. "Self control only lasts so long when you're fighting your own nature." 

_"May God have mercy on you."_


	3. (TEW) Joseph; Gunshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph allows his mind to wander as he faces his death. He knew only a few things for certain.

There were many things running through Joseph's mind as he clutched the fresh gunshot wound on his abdomen. The most prominent was that he was going to die. Not far behind that thought was the utterly depressing fact that he was going to die alone. From a wound one of his two partners had given him. 

It was a clean shot despite the panicky way it had been delivered, a jolt, an accident more than anything. Or at least that's what he told himself. It's what he wanted to believe. Kidman was quiet, kept to herself, judged from a distance, but she wasn't… Malicious. Standoffish for sure, but even in his shock he didn't want to believe her intent had been to kill him. The bullet was meant for Leslie. That kid-There was a brief silver lining in that he was safe, Joseph had to a degree done what he had wanted. The cost was just far greater than drama in the workplace. 

He opens his eyes, focuses on the hazy silhouettes of distant buildings but he slowly forces his gaze downwards until he's instead staring at the small bloody hole through his body. By instinct alone his hand is already pushed up against it, blood seeping between leather coated fingers. It hurts (like hell) but the feeling is faded, pushed to the back of his mind. Like a distant, numb reminder that he was in pain more than the searing agony he should feel. It was a small mercy, or perhaps just a byproduct of the emotional high he was currently spiking through. 

Shifting, he slouches further, breaths short and quick as a leg slides farther away from him. He wonders what everyone is thinking. Did Kidman feel guilt weigh heavy on her back, or did she feel he deserved it? Perhaps she felt nothing at all. Content to press on, and forget all about him. Leslie was too innocent, too damaged, too clueless to even realize what happened. Either way he was probably terrified. Poor kid. And Seb… He had faced so much loss in such a short period of time. And now his partner? His best friend? Shot in front of him. He probably blamed himself, the same way he did when Lily died in that fire. The same way he did when Myra disappeared. His heart spasms painfully with the thought. He didn't want to cause Seb any more pain.

Perhaps it was better this way. He had held Sebastian before him at least once in this hellscape, absolutely overcome with the desire to tear him apart. To sink his teeth in and pull until there was nothing left but bones-And Seb just stared at him, pleaded with the part of him that didn't. And that part of him barely won over. He had wanted to let himself fade away, to give in and surround himself within the cocoon. It made him weak, a pathetic detective really, but more than anything it made him dangerous. Seb was dear to him, one of the last people left alive that he truly and deeply cared for. He would do anything for him. That's why he had to die. 

This place brought out the worst he had to offer, and it desperately wanted to turn him into a mindless monster like most of it's inhabitants were. His darkest thoughts haunted his every move, how easy it would be to give in. Just fall! He was standing on the edge all he had to do was move another inch. Yet it seemed like death awaited him momentary respite. Despite his life bleeding out between his fingers he felt himself, his mind was untampered with, and all he had to face was his own grievances. 

His plan hadn't been to die, but as Joseph lay gasping for breath with his head lolled back the thought seemed nice. Death. A thought that had sat in the back of his head, tempting him many times before. The thought had especially been prevelant here. To be free from everything. The cost was equal however, in that he would also lose everything.

He was not a spiritual man, he had no god's to pray to, no afterlife to look forward to, yet he found himself hoping there was more anyways. That by some slim chance he was more than a heartbeat and some skin, that such a concept as a soul could be plausible. Life hurt too much, maybe he would find something better in what lay beyond it.

Or perhaps he was a foolish man clinging to helpless ideals and dreams. That felt far more realistic.

He blinks, vision fading and body falling farther into a numb embrace. He swears a white cloaked figure is in font of him, for just a moment, but its gone before he can say for sure.

What he does know, however, is that he is very, very tired suddenly. And sleep sounds wonderful. He closes his eyes.


	4. (TEW) Sebastian and Sentinel; Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Goretober, all this is is gore and angst

Sebastian remembers Joseph once telling him he had a hero complex. Back then, he had a bullet lodged in his back, and an innocent little girl in his arms. He had saved her from an active shooter, who Joseph had then shot with a bullet through the head. Joseph had held him still and sobbed as he performed emergency first aid and called for an ambulance. Dying then he would have felt like it was worth it, saving that innocent kid… It would have meant something.

Crushing Joseph's glasses in his hand in agony, he felt far less content with his imminent death here. Sentinel slams him to the ground, giant paws knocking the air from his lungs and likely breaking at least a few bones as he is pinned, the force sending his gun skittering away while he desperately gasps for breath. He's done for, but he won't go down without a fight. It shifts its weight off of him, leaning down so he can feel its putrid breath on the back of his neck, and he takes the opportunity. Small cry escaping him he desperately turns, heaving with effort as he spins onto his back to meet the hellish canine head on. 

The beasts lower maw spasms, raw open flesh constantly twitching and moving with life. His nose wrinkles in disgust despite himself, eyeing the row of teeth that were now descending upon him. It was ballsy, but he was desperate for the upper hand here. The monster lunges at him suddenly, huge deformed eye lulling down to stare as the snapping teeth in its neck make purchase.It was as if the beast could tell he was preparing to fight back.

It howls, an ungodly terrifying sound that escapes from bubbling torn vocal chords. Sebastian cries out with it, the teeth closed around his elbow, sinking in, tearing through skin and muscle without problem. The teeth grate against his bones, and he feels tears of pain fill his eyes as he practically shatters his teeth by gnashing them together. But he was no defenseless victim. Now buried deep within Sentinel's horrific mouth was an agony bolt, the freezing kind, the last he had. The freeze explodes over both of them, and Sebastian curses once more as the freezing crawls across his already damaged arm. Sentinel reels away, taking the rest of his arm with him, the limb pulled away with a loud sick tearing noise.

For a second he is overcome with agony, but soon he is numb. Sentinel broke away before the freeze could get him too badly, but honestly the harsh cold bite that crawled through his severely bleeding arm and into his shoulder was a blessing. But he doesn't have time. He jolts to his feet, running on pure adrenaline as he bolts back to the gate as Sentinel struggles silently behind him. He hears Joseph calling for him in distress, and all but slams himself through the gate, eyes wide and chest heaving as blood continues to spurt from his arm. He can barely focus as Joseph helps him to the ground, desperately pushing his gloved hand over the stump where his arm had once been whole while he fumbles for a syringe off of Sebastian's belt. There's still a huge likelihood of his death. Even if he lives, a man with one arm is as good as dead in this place.

He smiles, and unfurls his other fist, shakily offering the glasses to Joseph. The left lens was shattered, crushed under his fist from Sentinels attack. But he had still completed his mission, ever the hero. He just wished he didn't have to see Joseph sob again.


	5. (DBH) Nines and Connor; Autopsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very rushed as I didnt have much time, not too fond of it and I wanted to do more.

They're so similar, Nines muses. At first glance a less trained eye would probably consider them identical. He smirks at the thought, a small hum escaping him. He knew better, though as a superior model he supposed that was a given. Every piece of him was improved, from his framework to his programming, to the smallest wire, he was truly an untouchable work of mastery and art. 

He owed the RK800 some credit though, as far as a prototype went it was acceptable. Far from perfect, and incredibly inferior, but still a first step towards perfection. He could outline all the reasons why "Connor" was lesser, beginning with the wiring. Messy at best, he eyed the lines of colour coded wire that hid behind faceplates and down across his thirium pump. Thirium was everywhere, excessively lost during the process of opening the long since deactivated body. Nines knows full well he wouldn't have bled that much due to precautionary divergence systems. Poor, poor Connor.

Though to be fair, the deviant hunter had already been dead. Failed his mission, left his partner in hysterics, shot dead on the scene and left in the evidence room until further research could be done. For Nines it was just a perfect learning opportunity. It would be easy to write off the excessive search, and he was sure Connor would have preferred dying for something. And here he was, fileted expertly by his 'brother'. Like everything Nine's does, the autopsy is clean, precise, and exactly as he intended. Connors innerworkings are on full display, layers of protective plastic peeled away carefully to expose raw mechanics and biocomponents. 

He inspects every nook and cranny, digging fingers in behind bundles of wires and behind brackets, pulls out each piece carefully to inspect and compare. A quick scan of the hardware and he scoffs, Connor was superior to most models, but even his processing systems were incomparable to the new lines of code that ran through Nines' head. 

He pulls at the peculiarly human shaped heart, glass casing showing the pool of thirium that now sat within it. How stupid, such a poor design choice. He knew within his own chest there was nothing this painfully human. Oh Connor, poor, poor Connor. He really was an inferior model.


	6. (DBH) Gavin and Nines "Flowers"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes I missed yesterday, oops, im dead this week leave me be
> 
> Apocalyptic Detroit AU

_"At least the sunsets are still pretty."_

Of all the places to find a familiar face. 

Gavin pauses, hands caked in dirt and unknown filth. The decrepit crumbling buildings of Detroit frame him, casting dusty shadows across his form. A single ray of pale yellow light frames his palms, and the flowerbed before him, slipping between shattered windows as the sun dips below the unseen horizon. 

How unfortunate. 

Half buried in dirt, with most of it's body covered in holes and torn to pieces from scavengers, was the RK900 partner Gavin had lost nearly two decades ago. It had obviously been here for a long time, flowers(none Gavin could name, what use did a man like him have for such knowledge?) of warm sunset colours sprouted through it's body. They curled around wires, and sprouted cautiously between mounds of dirt trapped beneath layers of shattered biocomponents. Two even sprung from the hollow place where its right eye had been, though the rest of its face was mostly untouched. It was hauntingly beautiful.

Nines, he had called it. Though he supposed Tincan could have just as easily been it's name. It had been many years since he thought back to his days as a detective, much less his partner. Nines had infuriated him at first, of course, but despite being an android it had grown on him. They were quite the team when it came down to it. They served the force for 2 years together, then 5 more when the world ended. They even fought less when they truly relied on each other. Tooth and nail, plastic and flesh, they fought everyday to survive in a world that didn't want them to. 

_He remembers holding his hand, bottle of rum in the other as they look out across the city. The sunset pours over them, legs dangling off the edge of one of the few skyscrapers still standing, far above the layer of rolling dust that coated the surface. "We're gonna die, in fuckin Detroit." The words were spat bitterly. Nines pauses, staring at him and seeming to consider what to say. His gaze turns to the sunset and he hums, a painfully human sound._

_"Did you think we'd die anywhere else?"_

He hadn't really known if it died. One day it was just gone, no note, no finality, no purpose. He hadn't known what to think then. He certainly didn't know what to think now. He pats it down, _gently_ , to see if there is anything of use to him. A pen in its torn pocket, and, clutched tightly in its hand is a pocket knife. He was surprised it was still there. 

_"You'll need to defend yourself. People out here are getting crazier by the day. We won't have bullets soon, and I doubt we'll be able to reliably find more." He waits for an excuse, some speech about how Nines was a high powered android with the most advanced programs and blah blah blah… But to his surprise he just smiles, and takes the small blue blade gently. He holds it up, eyeing it, cataloguing its every edge to memory. Gavin tries to memorize his expression as well, gentle appreciation that still sometimes haunts his most repressed dreams._

_"Thankyou."_

He pockets it, and silently wishes he had stayed out of Detroit. He had stayed away for so long(the second he decided he wouldn't find Nines he had left, Detroit had nothing for him without Nines), but came crawling back. For what? Closure? He certainly had it now, but the hollow ache that reopened in his chest made him doubt if he even wanted it to begin with. Weakness was a terrible, terrible thing. But he was getting old, especially for this new world, so he supposed closure and a bit of weakness was better than dying with more questions.

He stands, stares down at the ever preserved face, the flowers, then walks away.


	7. (V) Reid; Mass Murder/This is Just Bloodlust Again Oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is posted on time wym

He remembers how horrified he had been when the world faded away to muddled black and white. When he had completely and utterly lost control, ultimately taking the life of his beloved Mary, _twice_ .

But that was when he had cared. The trouble was, he didn't anymore. Hadn't for a long time. There was a clear point where he had tossed aside everything he had been, and embraced what he had been turned into against his will. And from there things went downhill. He would never again fall victim to a loss of control hidden behind monochrome, he would willingly face what he had been reborn to do. 

Reid distinctly remembers sparing Clay, some shred of morality clawing through his bones. When the man continued to be despicable and crude, he was the first to writhe beneath his teeth on his own free will. The first to spin him on the spiral he now found himself on, neverending. Worthless was the word that came to mind when he had stared down at the limp pale body, and soon that mentality began to cloud his judgement ultimately. It's all anyone was anymore. As London crumbled and he posed as a hero to protect his hunting grounds he lost himself.

He didn't really want to find himself.

He licks his fangs, which still had the metallic stinging taste of blood along their edges. A gala, bright red decor over polished white floors accented by the crumbled forms of bloodied dames and upperclassmen. Terror in their faces, fear, surprise, anger, regrets, he knew all of them so intimately. Holding each one, buried into their necks, hearing their final thoughts-It was so personal and intimate, he knew each one better through those few seconds than he ever would have with dull conversation. Besides, he thought they all looked far prettier with torn throats, draped everlasting throughout the ballroom. 

He had drank far more than necessary, to the point he was nearly uncomfortable, but he didn't care. They had all gathered so wonderfully, a full meal gathered all at once. They had invited him in, it would have been rude not to have a bite of what everyone brought along. Reid was a gentleman at heart, so he happily danced pressed against a drunkard as she giggled and swayed until she noticed his eyes and screamed. She noticed his fangs next, but they were sinking into her jugular before she could elicit more dastardly noises. He bets she noticed his claws too, as they sank into the flesh of her hip and shoulder.

Her last thoughts were drunken terrified garble, but he didn't have much time to reflect on them before he was onto the next, shooting shadowy tendrils to keep others at bay. Child's play really. All the scene lacked was a loud tune of classical music, and it would have been perfect. A shame, but the night was wonderful even without it.

None of them were anything more than rich snobs, no one even left a scratch on him, not one of them even stood a chance. So he drank his fill, and then some. They say gluttony is a sin. But Reid knows that there are far worse things to go to hell for than gluttony.


	8. (TEW) Sebastian and Ruvik; Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue request for @FreelancerRiley  
> After this month is over I might make this a biiit longer and repost it separately ngl, kinda ran out of time haha

Sebastian's head was a mess. It was an unnecessary observation to make really, in this place everyone's mental faculties were being poked, prodded and displayed like twisted art pieces. But it was an observation he was made more aware of with every passing minute. After torching the four armed monster (Laura) there was a gentle prodding, a low headache that only seemed to amplify as time went on. Memories he hadn't thought of in years springing to the surface, pointless drivel he heard from drunkards, his daughter's favourite board games, the time he skinned his knee chasing after a stray cat-Inconsequential little things that did not matter in the long run. They sprouted up inconveniently, when his pistol was drawn steady to shoot, mangled hands scrabbling at his throat. Focus was already hard in a world where your landscape and enemies was always changing, it was made increasingly difficult with a raging headache. Invasive bittersweet memories made it near impossible. But Sebastian was a fighter. Being beaten down only meant he had to get up again, and he always got up. (For now) 

Quietly he shuffles behind an overturned taxi, side eyeing a Ruvik doppelganger who stands alert mere feet away from him when suddenly the pressure behind his eyes spikes. Wincing he is suddenly confronted with the memory of his awkward first kiss in highschool with a girl called Kacey. Her long blonde hair (Sebastian always seemed to have a thing for blonde's) past her shoulders and the smell of convenience store cologne. He comes to the conclusion his own mind was against him, trying to hide behind memories and long gone comforts. Using what had been so long ago as a flimsy shield against the horrors he now faced, leaving him to sweep up the aftermath. 

He needed to clear his head, kick back, take an ibuprofen, chase it with a glass of whiskey and take a nap. (Can't sleep). His old beaten armchair sounded great right now. Fantasizing of melting into its plush embrace he can nearly feel it, warm and inviting, the rough texture of cigarette burns across the right arm from long before Myra had ever even known his name. Yet she scolded him for it anyways. He forgets a moment that the chair is long since ash and dust, like most things he has ever held dear. The bitter aftertaste of whiskey rises, and he punctuates it with the sharp tang of led through rotten skulls.

Stumbling into the small room bathed with light and gentle music he feels disheveled, something lesser standing before the cracked mirror. The haunted were something he could take on with gritted teeth and bullets, but the long buried thoughts currently haunting his head took a strength he had never mastered. A weakness that led him to bottles, the kind of weakness Joseph watched overcome him with sad, sad eyes. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to remember. So he grits his teeth and presses on anyways, his greatest defense mechanism being perseverance over everything. No matter how little of him was left he kept going. (Until there was nothing)

He is disappointed to find that embracing the light doesn't change the status of his migraine. Blinking and staring up to the corkboard of nameless newspapers and clippings he pauses, breathes, and slowly allows the tension to leave his shoulders. This place was safe. For mere minutes while he stayed he could relax, leave his gun holstered and simply ride out the worst of his migraine(it was so much more than a simple headache). He glances behind the desk, but the nurse is still missing. He is utterly alone. Good.

The hallways are ever dim and grungy, but he doesn't care about the state of the place. All he wants is the chair, its mysterious (highly questionable) enhancements, and brief piece. Perhaps a bunch of needles in his cranium will hit a nerve and sever the migraine that threatens to make him explode.

It creaks as he sits down, metallic pieces old and noisy with protest. He shifts, entirely unperturbed as the chair traps him, restraints snapping over his wrists and feet, effectively minimizing his movements. It stutters to a standstill, and for the first time in a long time he hesitates, and stares warily down the decrepit hallway. It's only now he realizes something is wrong. The ringing in his ears, it's not just the headache, it's-

The doors twist away, folding into themselves with painful silence as they disappear. Ruvik stands, staring down the hall and meeting Sebastian's eyes with an outstretched hand. He falters for only a moment before he's struggling, pushing and pulling at the restraints and _he should have known even this place wasn't safe._ As the thought tears through his mind Ruvik smirks, stepping forwards him slowly the same as he had in the elevator. He was really not in the mood for this. 

Entirely at his mercy (even more so than normal) he still glares. His jaw clenches, and his brows pull taught across his face. The throbbing behind his eyes left him in an already irritable mood, Ruvik's taunting entrance into the one place he had considered safe was _not_ the boost he needed. STEM was very quickly becoming the top contender of his shit list. Everytime he felt anything damn near relaxed or content it sucker punched him below the belt. When he got out of here he was going to do some nice relaxation therapy; taking a sledgehammer to every bathtub and wheelchair in Krimson City sounded like a nice start.

"Did you really think you were safe here, Seb?" Ruvik chides, shaking his head as he comes to a stop in front of him. His complexion is nearly ethereal here, dim lighting making the paleness of his skin seem to glow, tattered robe ever billowing in unseen breezes. If not for the cruel smirk and coldness in his eyes it would almost be angelic, but Sebastian knew far better than that. "This is my world, there is nowhere to hide, I can see _everything._ I know-"

"Get to the point already-What's with fuckers like you, always on your high horses with the monologuing and bullshit." Sebastian interrupts, glare hardening into unadulterated hatred and entirely done with everything that was being served to him. Ruvik pauses, and their eyes meet. A battle of glaciers and fire. 

The man clad in white leans in, raising his hand and holding it just over the skin of Sebastian's neck. He cranes away, grimacing, but the hand only chases him until he's leaning back, neck bent at an awkward angle as he tries to avoid being anywhere near him. Ruvik's smirk tilts, a mischeviousness rising that he really didn't appreciate. "Point is a choice word." The digit makes contact, and he does his best to repress his grimace as his skin splits open, a light cut tracing down as the finger drags a line along his neck down to the edge of his shirt. The sensation is pins and needles writhing in his skin, tearing the wound into his skin from the inside out. A quiet grunt of pain and anger escapes him as the hand draws back. 

He is disgusted to watch the fascination rise as Ruvik stares at the fresh wound, following the droplets of blood as they roll down the small patch of exposed skin and gather against the edge of his dress shirt. He was never wearing white again. The stains this place were leaving, he'd need to burn everything he owned to get rid of them. The smirk quickly falls, false neutrality rippling across burnt features. 

He can only watch with anxious anticipation as the opposer speaks again. "I've made an interesting discovery, Seb." There is no sneer, but the way the words are dropped on him, like he is scum, he can picture it perfectly. He leans forwards, sending fresh rivers of blood from his neck. He's practically a snarling animal without the feral growling. "While you had gained my interest for other purposes, it seems you are actually of greater use to me." 

He nearly flinches. The realization dawning far too late for a detective, but he could always blame the headache. Later, he would. Since his interruption, Ruvik hadn't opened his mouth once. He hadn't spoken. His words were _in his head._ And it seemed like a familiar sensation, the prodding and poking, the little voice, the tiny suggestions and pulls. (He was a marionettes doll)

"Ruvik what the hell-Get out of my-" The device slams over his head, partially obscuring his vision as the needles slam through his head. It's the same jolt as always, piercing and momentary agony, but with Ruvik here it was something worse. Something more twisted and cruel. It was unnecessary, but that was a plea that would get him nowhere. Unnecessary cruelties were a favourite of Ruvik's. 

"We are compatible." The monologue continues, and he would protest that sentiment if it wasn't pushing the headache down. He tries desperately to see, but can make out only glimpses of scar tissue and white between metal pieces. "They dragged you into this to be an obstacle, another force wishing to consume me. But all they did was send a preferable vessel." With every word the headache eased slowly, and he all but melts into the chair. If he just stays quiet for now maybe he can hold on for a second longer. That pressure had been building for so long, the momentary respite was something he would practically beg on his knees for now. Amusement he isn't quite sure is his ripples through him.

"Simple. Pavlovian response, you roll over like a dog when rewarded. Poor Seb, crashing through my world like a lion while hiding a quivering dog in your belly. You don't need to hide from me, I already _know_ you." His head is static, softly buzzing. He's not sure about much of anything in the moment, hardly registering the taunting words at all. Why was he so tired suddenly? He can't focus. How hadn't he noticed? If he had noticed would it have mattered?

He feels breath on his ear, as if Ruvik is whispering to him, but the words are still in his head. They almost come across as gentle, but he knows even his thoughts aren't his anymore "Let me in, submit to me, it will make all of this go so much smoother for the both of us. Fighting only hurts."

What was he even fighting for anymore?

The rain hits his face, draws across his brow and washes away the filth of this place. It's been so long since he's felt rain, properly at least. It never felt right after the fire, it had been a mockery more than anything. He feels a smile tug at his face, eyelids fluttering closed as drops of water coat his features further. His skin feels hypersensitive, fingertips twitching as they are gently pelted. There is a serenity, uniformity and a settled agreement that this was pleasant. For mere moments there is no conflict stirring in his belly, no tense muscles waiting to draw his gun. Yet his peace is interrupted by the slapping of footsteps, wet against the grass and concrete. They go ignored, until a familiar voice calls out, tentatively. "Sebastian?" 

He turns slowly, meets Joseph's eyes from a distance. Joseph is cautious, he can read something is wrong with him without even needing to be close. Leslie is in his grasp, shaking and twitching and murmuring something incomprehensible. Neither of them mattered anymore. His face torn between a bittersweet smile and a frown he turns, and numbly presses on further. Behind him Joseph cries out for him, but he keeps walking, bliss of the rain fading into a simmering pot of unwarranted anger. 

In a blink he's inside, another and he's down the hall. His legs keep moving confidently, but he wants to stop. His vision feels hazy, and quite suddenly he feels ill. There is no external tick, no frown or even a quick downward twitch of his lips. He is stoic as he moves, face drawn taught with indifference. But he is filled with fire, an innate need to stop. 'No' .His body continues, and soon he feels weightless. 

Everything is warped, there is a pressure building in his head again, behind his eyes, and it is growing rapidly. It hammers against him, rising from a low ache to a burning agony unlike anything he had ever felt even here. Time is false, space is false, his body is false, he is false. It feels like someone is digging knives into him, splitting him apart and digging in, invasive. Unwanted. 

The weight of his body crashes into him suddenly, and all the pain and dissociation he felt fades. Sebastian stumbles, catching himself on the edge of one of the bathtub like devices. He blinks, vision sharp and finally fully in his control. He flicks his gaze to the side, quickly reeling himself back together again. This was STEM.

His head feels fuzzy. He almost feels sick. Scratch that, he is sick. He clutches the white edge with an iron grip, swallows thickly as the ever brief momentary illusion of control is shattered. With every blink he's less sure of who or what or where he is. Agony sears through his mind, his gut, and he's not too sure he's even alive anymore. He's at the STEM terminal, he's in a land of flesh and barbed wire, he's alone, he's surrounded, he's human, he's monster, he's in control, he's not. He's Sebsatian Castellanos.

He walks forwards, falls into the stiff embrace of Ruvik, and fades away into nothing.

He's Ruben Victoriano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of breaking this down and reposting all these as seperate oneshots in a collection instead? That way its not a multi fandom garbled mess? The tags list scares me now, imagine what it would look like at the end of the month ha


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